


That Awkward Moment

by amusewithaview



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All the Hales want a piece of Stiles, Morning After, One Night Stands, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:05:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...when you realize that your one-night stand is your brother's mate.</p><p> </p><p>Contextless excerpt:<br/>“I wasn't going to <i>molest</i> you,” Derek muttered, mentally amending, <i>Not unless you wanted me to.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just another way that Derek and Stiles might have met, if Laura had lived.

Stiles stumbled out of the bedroom, pulling on his shoes as he went, to find Lana? Lyra? No, _Laura_ , sitting on the kitchen island and looking amused while nursing a cup of coffee. She held another one out to him and outright grinned when he stumbled even _more_ , trying to reach for it and finish buttoning up his shirt at the same time.

“Oh my god, so good - you have no idea - _thank you_ ,” he babbled in between gulps.

She smirked, “You're awfully talky, you know that?”

“You would not be the first, or the last, to say so." He frowned, remembering, "Actually, I think you said something about it last night.”

She slid down from the island and prowled up to him, sliding a hand around the back of his neck and leaning in with a whispered, “Maybe we could work on figuring out what makes you go _non_ -verbal. What do you say, _Stiiiles?_ ”

He swallowed hard, _Best morning ever._ “I say lets tr – hello!”

Laura looked over her shoulder, “Hey, Derek. You're back early.”

Stiles was now swallowing for an entirely different reason because suddenly-appearing 'Derek' was not a small guy. Oh no, he was big and tall and muscular and looked _extremely_ pissed. If he'd known Laura had a boyfriend, he wouldn't have gone home with her, or invited her to his home – he was many things, but homewrecker wasn't one of them. Especially not when it looked like the homewrecking would lead to _his_ wrecking, because re: po'ed boyfriend. Po'ed boyfriend with _really big_ muscles.

They were nice muscles, too... No! Bad Stiles!

Derek just stood there, face grim, hand clutching a duffel.

He decided to bite the bullet and ask the obvious question: “You have a boyfriend?!” The silent question was, of course, _Why would you cheat on that? With me? Because have you seen that? Have you seen me? That is clearly grade A, madame, and I am clearly... grade Stiles._ He'd gotten a lot better at turning external babbling into internal monologuing since high school, though, so only his first question was going to get an answer and (bonus!) nobody was giving him you're-crazy face.

Laura grimaced, though she did step away from him, and don't think he missed the way that that lessened the murderous glint in Derek's eyes. Because it did - it totally did! - just a little. “Ew. No. He's my brother. He's my extremely _impolite_ brother,” she gestured impatiently, “Derek, say 'hi'.”

Derek made a strangled noise instead.

“Um. _Brother_. Derek,” he wasn't sure he believed her, “ _right_ , nice meeting you and, well, it looks like you two have a lot of catching up to do, maybe I should just lea – oh my god, _why are you growling?_ ” Because he was, Derek that is, Derek was _growling_ and _oh my god_ now _Laura_ was growling back and _seriously_ , why was this his life?

The growling tapered off after a few tense minutes-that-felt-like- _hours_ when Derek broke their staring contest and looked right at _Stiles_ , and Stiles would swear that, just for a second, the other guy's eyes flashed a brilliant, verging-on-neon-here blue. Then he looked back at Laura who was looking between the two of _them_ and had this weird look on her face, it was a very 'eureka!' look, and Stiles was glad that someone had an idea what was going on, because _he_ certainly didn't. She looked sort of like she wanted to laugh, sort of like she wanted to apologize, and sort of like she wanted to... what? Cry? Really? _Stiles_ was the one who should be crying in this situation!

“Derek,” Laura said slowly, “I didn't know. I _swear_ I didn't know. I am so, _so_ sorry... How about I leave and you can explain, and then I'll come back with pancakes and we can forget the whole thing happened until you have pups and we can tell them the funny story of how Stiles met their auntie Laura?”

Stiles' reaction to all of this was a big ol' _what_.

Apparently this made sense to Derek, though, because he nodded and then Laura was gone, out the door, leaving Stiles _alone_ with the muscular, angry-looking, _growly_ guy whose girlfriend (or sister! And Stiles wasn't sure which was worse) he'd just slept with.

Fuck his life, fuck his life _so hard_.


	2. Chapter 2

Laura was downstairs, in the parking lot, staring at her car before she realized that she was barefoot.

And had no keys.

She looked down at herself: t-shirt, shorts and no bra, no panties, _no shoes_ , and then looked back up at the apartment building. _Not worth it_ , she decided, and, leaning down, she grabbed the extra key magnetized to the underside of the car's body before hopping in.

Once in the car, she sort of lost her momentum. She stared straight ahead, hands clenched at ten and two on the wheel, her mind running in desperate circles. _I just fucked my brother's mate._ The fact that she hadn't known wasn't really an excuse. In fact, on some level she probably _had_ known, because Stiles wasn't really her usual type. She'd been drawn to him, though. And not just because he wasn't the usual sort of asshole she got hitting on her in bars.

 _I just fucked my brother's mate_ , she thought again.

It was a truly awful situation, she felt horrible. Her brows were drawn down into a scowl, but the corners of her mouth kept twitching because, well, it was also sort of... hilarious. She knew that she couldn't actually say that, that Derek would not see the humor any time soon, if ever, but still. Wow. San Francisco was a big city, it's entirely possible that Derek might not have ever run into Stiles were it not for the magical power of her vagina.

Laura snorted and then abruptly sobered because, _Oh shit, vagina!_ What if Stiles was straight?! She dismissed that concern after another moment, because Hales were _gorgeous_ and had been gently, albeit not always intentionally, sliding unsuspecting people towards the middle of the Kinsey scale for _decades_.

Sighing, she turned the car on and headed out. The convenience store on the corner would have flip-flops.

She was just pulling into the CVS parking lot when she heard a faint buzzing sound. It took a minute or two of fumbling around in the seats before she found it, vaguely recalling being too drunk and horny to care about leaving it behind when she dragged Stiles up to her apartment the night before.

Laura stared at the unknown number for a minute, then opened the text:

**omg laura why did u leave me here?!**

It was obviously Stiles, but wait, how had he gotten her – oh, that's right. Laura vaguely recalled reeling her number off lightning-fast in a lame bid to get the then-bothersome Stiles to leave her alone. He'd surprised her by being able to repeat it back to her, equally quickly and possibly even _faster_ , proving that he was both smarter and less drunk than the average bar patron. Then he'd gotten her a refill and the rest, as they say, was history.

She paused, fingers perfectly still on the keyboard, trying to decide whether or not to respond. After a moment, she shrugged, then dropped the phone and headed into the store. Derek needed to explain things and she really, _really_ doubted he'd appreciate her interference right now. Or ever. She wondered how in the hell they were going to break this to their parents, to _the rest of the pack_. Uncle Peter, for one, would _never_ let them live this down.

The CVS was cold, air-conditioning already on full-blast even though it was only early May. Laura found some flip-flops and headed for the register, glaring the cashier into stuttering silence and ensuring that his eyes never dipped below her chin.

In the car, her phone was going _ballistic_. Laura scrolled down and read the texts in order.

**cm bk cm bk plz**

**he's growling**

**he thinks he's a werewolf**

**ok, you guys ARE werewolves come back anyways**

**OMG LAURA PLZ**

She realized she was speeding, but she didn't care. Derek might feel murderous towards her for fucking his mate, but he'd kill _himself_ if he screwed this up.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles stared at Derek.

Derek stared at Stiles.

There was a long, awkward silence. Stiles _hated_ those.

“So, can I leave now?” he asked hopefully.

“No.”

“You know you can't actually keep me here.”

“Yes, I can.”

“...okay, you probably can. But that's against the law! Which I know. Because I am a sheriff's son,” he emphasized the last two words, hoping that they would communicate _people will look for me, especially if you kill me and eat me/ chop my body to bits/ dissolve it in acid/ grind it to make your bread, oh god, please just don't kill me, okay?!_

“I need to talk with you,” Derek said. That was better than 'it puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again' but since it was accompanied by a glare and the knowledge that he'd just fucked the guy's sister-or-possibly-girlfriend, Stiles thought it was still a semi-threatening sounding statement.

“Okaaaaaay,” he said, after another minute of waiting for the forthcoming speech.

“Sit down.”

Stiles sat at the island. Derek started to pace back and forth. He was still sort of blocking the exit, but he wasn't on the same side of the island as Stiles, wasn't _hurting Stiles in the face_ , so he calmed down a little. Just a little. And then he calmed even more when he realized that his phone was in his pocket and his hands (if he kept them in his lap) were blocked from sight by the counter-top.

He pulled up the last number he'd added, _hot girl, probly won't call me_ , and wrote up a quick text:

**omg laura why did you leave me here?!**

Derek sighed, drawing Stiles' attention. He had stopped pacing, but looked extremely frustrated. At some point he'd dropped the duffle bag, so both his hands were now free - _to beat you to death with_ , Stiles' morbid brain helpfully supplied – for him to scrub through his hair, a gesture that Stiles recognized from his father, one he used to stall when thinking.

“Where did you meet Laura?”

“At a bar. Look, man, I seriously didn't know she was taken,” Stiles assured him. “I didn't mean to poach.”

**cm bk cm bk plz**

_He won't kill me if there's a witness, right?_ Stiles thought frantically.

Derek grimaced, “She's my sister.”

“Okay..." he still didn't think he believed that one. "Do you always have to 'talk' with your sister's sex-buddies?”

This time he actually _snarled_ , there was a very quick flash of teeth and Stiles could have sworn that Derek's eyes flashed blue again before he very visibly, very _forcibly_ calmed himself down. In fact, Stiles was pretty sure that he was actually counting to ten. A manuever that the Sheriff had upped to thirty by the time Stiles was fifteen.

 **he's growling again** , he texted to Laura, because really, all he had wanted was to have sex with a hot girl, was that so wrong? Especially if neither he nor the hot girl were taken? Wasn't being single and willing to mingle, like, a freaking right of young twenty-somethings?

Derek was glaring at him, “She shouldn't have had sex with you.”

“Uh, I think that's between her and me, don't you?”

“ _She is not for you!_ ”

There was a very long silence in the kitchen as the echo of Derek's shout seemed to reverberate throughout the apartment. Stiles was staring, wide-eyed at the _extremely angry_ Derek, who was all but panting with rage: fists clenched at his sides, tendons highly visible in his neck, face flushed and gaze intense.

Stiles was starting to think that he'd stumbled into some sort of cult-thing -

“You're mine,” Derek growled, “you're my mate.”

“Um, what?”

“I'm a werewolf.”

Yeah, okay, definitely some sort of cult-thing.

 **he thinks he's a werewolf** , he texted slowly, keeping his eyes on Derek. _Why, why do all the crazies find me?_

“You're a werewolf,” Stiles said slowly, stalling, “like, howl at the moon, hungry like the, gypsy-curse, pentagrams and monkshood, _werewolf?_ ” _Maybe Laura's the sane one. Maybe he comes here on the weekends from the crazy house, like some sort of crazy-person release program. Maybe he's just off his meds. Maybe he's harmless._

“Yes. How did you know about the monkshood?”

“Dude,” he gave him a Look, “I watch movies, okay. _Movies_. Because, you know, werewolves are _fictional_.”

Derek shook his head, “They're not. I am one.”

“Okay,” Stiles sighed, “you're a werewolf, Laura's a werewolf, we're all wolves at heart. Can I go?”

Before his eyes, Derek _morphed_. His ears grew pointy, his hair went from attractively gelled to crazy-Wolverine-played-by-Hugh-Jackman spiked, his eyes flashed blue (he hadn't been imagining it!) and his upper body seemed to swell, literally _swell_ , with muscles. Combine that with the extremely sharp fangs that had suddenly grown in Derek's mouth and -

“You're a _werewolf?!_ ” he shrieked.

Derek growled, which was probably a 'yes.' Then he shifted back to his far more human, far less fanged physique.

“You're a _werewolf_ ,” Stiles said again. He thought it bore repeating. In fact, he might not be able to say anything else, ever again. 'What'd you do this week?' his dad would ask him on their weekly phone call and 'You're a werewolf' will be the only response Stiles can make. They'll even be his last words, said on his death-bed, which might be the island kitchen... he hopes not, but, _werewolf_.

“I'm a werewolf. You're my mate.”

“Mate? Wait, like g'day mate-mate, or partner-for-life-mate?”

“The second one.”

**ok, you guys ARE werewolves come back anyways**

“Um,” Stiles wasn't really sure what the appropriate response to that was. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means you're mine,” Derek said, staring at him in an intent manner that Stiles was starting to think might be less 'kill you dead' and more 'la petite mort.' “It means that Laura shouldn't have fucked you, that she _poached_ , as you put it, on _my_ territory. It means that I can smell her on you, and it's all I can do not to rip your clothes off and make you smell like me.”

**OMG LAURA PLZ**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, was not expecting such a positive response to this! I've got one more chapter planned (with more Laura!), so, there's that. Probably won't stretch this out too much farther, though. Thanks, everyone, for your kudos and comments! Your enthusiasm has surprised and delighted me :-D
> 
> Here's how I picture Laura:  
> http://www.beertripper.com/OffTopic/2012/Courtney_Henggeler/Courtney_Henggeler_red_dress.jpg


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a link to how I picture Laura at the end of the last chapter.
> 
> Alright, guys, I'm starting to run out of ideas. Feel free to leave a few, if you are so inclined.

When Laura burst into the kitchen, she found her brother engaged in a strange sort of tug-of-war with his mate. Derek's eyes were flashing, his claws releasing and contracting like a cat's, while he fought with Stiles over the plaid button-up that the younger man had been wearing the night before. Stiles, meanwhile, was stubbornly holding on, trying (futilely) to get the shirt back.

Both of them froze at her entrance.

Stiles was the first to react, though he didn't seem to know how to: “Laura! Oh my god, _Laura!_ ”

Derek was not as pleased by her interruption, “What are you doing here?”

She held up her phone, wiggling it in the air, “I received an SOS.”

“I was handling -”

“The only thing you are _handling_ is my shirt, buddy. Which is now _handled_ past the point of recognition!”

Laura gave Derek her best unimpressed look. It was a good look, she'd been practicing it for years.

He glared back at her, “You've done enough.”

“I think she should do some more!” Jumping at the rumbling growl that filled the room, Stiles hastened on, “ _Explaining_ , Laura should do some more _explaining_. Of the werewolf thing. The thing which you both, apparently, are.” He gulped, “And where are the pancakes? I am noticing a distinct lack of breakfast pastry in this room and I was promised pancakes. Maybe we should _all_ go get some. In a restaurant. In public.”

Laura inhaled deeply, scenting Stiles' fear, Derek's frustration... and the lingering smell of sex. _Laura-and-Stiles_ sex. Since the frustration was (indirectly) causing the fear and the sex-smell was _entirely responsible_ for Derek's frustration, Laura found herself glaring her brother into submission.

“Pancakes are a _great_ idea, Stiles. I'll drive.”

…

Stiles stayed quiet in the car and _tried_ to be still, but really, there was only so much he could take and his limit had been reached once supernatural creatures (and bonding! Mustn't forget the bonding!) had been brought into play. He thought he was bearing up pretty well, all things considered.

He was sitting in a car with two werewolves, wearing a werewolf's shirt, because said werewolf had ripped _his_ shirt to shreds, because he was apparently a werewolf's _mate_ , which had come to light only _after_ he'd screwed the _sister_ of said 'destined mate.' If an evil twin or long-lost _person_ appeared in the next few hours, he was going to start looking for cameras, or the guy with the red and blue pills, or _something_.

“So,” he asked, drumming his fingers against his legs, “tell me again why I had to wear Derek's shirt?”

“Because you smell like me,” Laura said patiently, “he can't really take that right now.”

“But _he_ smells like you, doesn't he? You live in the same house.”

“You smell like me, and like _sex_.”

“Ah, right. Um. I can't really say I'm sorry about that.”

There was a growl from the back seat.

“What? Come on! It's not like I was cheating on you or something! I didn't even know I had a you to cheat on!” Stiles slumped down in his seat, hands covering his face, “This is so surreal. I am going to wake up in an alleyway or something and find that this was all some strange and terrible dream brought on by mixing light and dark liquors. Lydia always warned me about that.”

“It's not a dream,” Derek bit out, “you're not going to wake up from this... and who's Lydia?”

Stiles twisted around in his seat and tried not to shrink back when he was met with a dark expression and two eyes like brilliant blue lasers, “Seriously? Are you really going to be all 'who were you with' and crazy-jealous-significant-other when we _just met_ and _aren't even dating?_ Because that is just way too Lifetime movie for me to deal with right now. In fact, can we, I don't know, _table_ the 'mate' thing until I get a handle on the _werewolf_ thing?!”

“No,” both the Hale siblings answered immediately: one emphatically, the other apologetically.

“Oh, okay,” Stiles settled back into his seat, “just checking.” _HOW IS THIS MY LIFE?_

“We're here!” Laura chirped.

Navigating the parking lot and seating was much harder than Stiles had expected. For one thing, Derek was glaring at anyone and everyone who so much as _glanced_ at Stiles. For another, he kept hovering over him, always with his arm half out, as if he wanted nothing more than to pull Stiles into his side and walk with him as if they were Richandamy.

The hostess looked confused, rightfully so, as Stiles kept wondering how on earth he'd managed to find himself with two of the hottest, _craziest_ people in San Fran. The four of them hovered at the booth, he and the Hale siblings having a short, intense, _silent_ fight over who would sit where, which eventually ended when Laura rolled her eyes and slid in against the wall, dragging Derek down beside her by his ear.

Stiles slid in across from them and grabbed a menu, not quite childish enough to use it to hide his face, but _tempted_.

“Water for all of us, and could we have a few minutes?” Laura asked, smiling sweetly.

Thank god _one_ of the werewolf-twins was capable of normal human interaction.

Stiles jumped as he felt a leg hook around one of his feet and another foot – a _bare_ foot - rubbing up against his calf. “Are you freaking kidding me?!” He leaned across the table to glare at Derek, “Seriously? Stop trying to play fucking _footsie_ with me, man! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Derek glared back, mutinous and unrepentant, “You smell like _her_.”

“I am _wearing_ your _shirt_ , you neanderthal!”

Laura had a pained look on her face, like she was trying hard not to laugh.

“And,” Stiles hissed, finally jerking his leg free from the werewolf's ministrations and _immediately_ curling both legs up as far away from him as possible, “I'm pretty sure my _feet_ just smell like _feet_ , Derek! Jesus Christ!”

“I promise you that he's not always like this,” Laura whispered. “He's usually very rational. It's just, well, you're supposed to be _his_ and you smell like _me_. He'll calm down once you two have sex, I swear.”

“ _Once_ we have sex? _Once?_ " He wasn't even touching the fact that she just _assumed_ he'd be okay batting for the other team, did he, like, put out a vibe or something? Because while he was comfortable with his open-options view of sexuality, he didn't really want to _advertise_. He scoffed, "I am _not_ just going to jump into bed with your brother to appease his freaky werewolf instincts and _hey!_ I am not _that_ easy!”

She opened her mouth to say something, paused, then shut it, obviously thinking better of it.

Stiles glared at her, “It was a _one-night stand_ , not the start of a relationship! I didn't care if you respected me in the morning!”

“She'll respect you,” Derek growled, apparently done pouting over the loss of foot, “she'd _better_ respect you.”

Laura had to bite her fist to keep from laughing and Stiles was just – just overcome.

He let his head thunk down on the tabletop, “Jesus fucking _wept_.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was _so hard to write_. Also, sorry guys, but it's definitely less funny that the last few.

“Alright, so,” Stiles steeled himself, then slowly lifted his head so he could fix the werewolves with his most determined stare, which, being completely serious, he knew actually _was_ a sight to behold. “This,” he gestured at first Derek, then Laura, “is not working, like, at _all_. So here's what's going to happen. You,” he gestured at Derek, “are going to answer my questions and you,” he pointed at Laura, “are going to fill in what he forgets and ensure that he doesn't _leap across the table and molest me_ , okay?”

Laura stared at him, looking faintly impressed, “...fine, but you should know that you're kind of turning me on right now.”

Derek grimaced, but shifted in his seat in such a way that – was he _adjusting himself?_ \- made Stiles wonder if he was also, ahem, _affected_ by his sudden forcefulness.

“ _Seriously?_ Actually, wait, no, don't answer that. For my sanity.” He blew out a breath between his teeth, “Okay, so, _werewolves_.”

“That's... not a question,” Laura pointed out after a moment.

“Yeah, I know, still just trying to wrap my head around it. Real question: were you, um, born this way?”

“Yes,” Derek answered shortly

“Ooookay, so your whole family...?”

“Most, some of those who've married in are human, as well as some of the children. They get to choose.”

“But you and you,” he pointed at the two of them, “were born all grrr and argh?”

Derek's lips twitched, “Yes. But there's no Slayer.”

“There are hunters, though,” Laura broke in, “but most of them follow a Code: hunt those who hunt humans.”

“And those that don't follow a code?” Stiles asked.

“They don't hunt for long,” Derek replied, grinning in a downright _wolfish_ manner.

“I'm going to table the whole manslaughter and 'most dangerous game' implications for a minute and focus on the _you guys are_ \- hiiiiii!” Stiles beamed his brightest smile at the waitress, who had just reappeared, “We are _so_ ready to order, aren't we guys? I'll have a double stack of buttermilk pancakes, sausage links on the side.”

“Meat-lover's omelette, thanks,” Laura's smile put Stiles' to shame.

“Chocolate chip waffles and two side-orders of bacon, extra crispy,” Derek said, never taking his eyes off of Stiles, and even going so far as to _reach out and take his hand_. The slightly suspicious look he shot the waitress was just the icing on the cake. Stiles tried to wiggle his hand away, subtly, but Derek managed some sort of ninja-palm trick that left them with intertwined fingers, which, _seriously_ , when did Stiles' life become an awkward romantic comedy?

Only, with werewolves, so there was still an option on scifi-thriller.

After the waitress left, Stiles turned to Derek, “Okay, screw all my other questions, this one's obviously the most pressing: what is this mate thing? Also, can I have my hand back, please? Only less with the please and more with the _let go, now_. And don't give me some bull about it smelling like Laura, okay? I've washed them since...” he paused, “you know, _since_.”

Derek huffed, “It's just. Easier. If I'm touching you.”

“Why? _What's_ easier? Use your words.”

“Mates are special, almost sacred to us. It's not quite what you might think of as 'soulmates,' but it's close. It's someone our instincts recognize as being right for us. It's like,” he took a deep breath, “it's like how a puzzle piece has four different other pieces that would match it, but the odds of reaching into the box and finding the four, or even _one_ of the matches on your first ten tries is almost impossible.”

“Okay, first off, 'sacred?' If you mention rituals or kool-aid or white robe-things, I am _out_. Second, I have to remind you that corner pieces only have _two_ matches... which doesn't actually hurt your analogy, which I am going to assume was using 100 or 500 piece puzzles as its springboard?”

Both the Hales just looked at him.

“...right, not actually important. So, I'm your interlocking piece? That... sounded way less dirty in my head.”

“Basically,” Derek replied, a small smile on his face.

Stiles couldn't help but notice that it was a _nice_ smile. He tabled that. “That still doesn't really explain the boundary issues we're having.”

Just like that, Derek's smile turned into a thunderous frown. Like, seriously, Stiles was almost expecting a miniature raincloud to appear above his head, Eeyore-like, to reflect his extreme mood shift. “We wouldn't - _I_ wouldn't be having these sorts of problems if you two hadn't slept together,” he grit out. “All of my instincts are saying that you're _mine_ , but you smell like my _sister_.”

“I am sorry about that,” Laura said in a small voice.

“ _I'm_ not,” Stiles muttered. A sudden rumble from Derek's chest made him continue: “Look, it's a big city, and I don't even live here full time! It is _entirely possible_ that we might not have ever met had it not been for last night.”

“Intellectually, there's a part of me that _knows that_ ,” Derek growled, “the rest is feeling... territorial.”

“I am not going to have sex with you just to calm down your wolfy sense of propriety,” Stiles said flatly. “And I'm _still_ not sure how I feel about this mate thing, I mean, even according to your analogy, there _are_ other people out there for you, right?”

“Hypothetically,” Laura answered, shooting concerned looks her brother's way: he'd clenched his jaw tight at the implication that Stiles might reject him. “But that's mostly because, over time, some of our more... esoteric thinkers have tried to figure out why so many wolves _do_ meet their mates when, if you think about it, the whole 'one person for everyone' thing just _shouldn't work_ when there are several _billion_ people in the world.”

Stiles sighed, and would have slumped back in his seat were it not for the hand he'd lost to Derek. “So I'm it for you, basically,” he smiled mirthlessly, “that is... _fuck_.” He looked down at their intertwined hands, “Okay, no joke, let go - _now_.”

Derek slowly released him, face unreadable.

“This is,” Stiles rubbed his face with both hands, “this is _seriously messed up_ , I just want you to know that.”

“I do, _we_ do,” Laura said sympathetically, “you have to know that this isn't how it's usually done.”

“What's the normal order of things?”

“Well, ideally, you two would have met under... less intense circumstances, dated like normal folk and, eventually, Derek would have told you everything. This is the, ah, _expedited_ version of the 'yes, we exist; no, we don't have fleas' talk.”

“Awesome. Where do we go from here?”

Laura glanced towards her still-silent brother, obviously concerned, before she answered, “It's really up to you. I mean, we can't _make you_ date Derek, I mean -” Her words cut off abruptly as Derek fairly _jumped_ out of the booth, heading towards the back of the restaurant. “ _Damnit_.”

Stiles stared after him, caught between guilt and a slight feeling of satisfaction. He was an awful person, he knew this, accepted it, _embraced it_ , even. And this was a shit situation. That he'd been dragged into. By a hot girl and her equally-hot brother. And he might be taking it out on the hot brother who may or may not be _his soulmate_ , who was also _a werewolf_.

“I, yeah, _crap_ about sums it up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on _As the Werewolf Turns:_ Laura lays a verbal smackdown on Stiles! Bathroom confessions! And... a kiss?!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Dreanimated, who gave me the idea of Derek scurrying off to the bathroom and "Stiles having to comfort his Overly-Attached Not-Boyfriend" - speaking in memes in the comments section? Be still my nerd!!!

They watched Derek stomp off. Okay, not _literally_ stomping, but pretty close.

Laura's face, when she turned to look at him, was grim. “Stiles...”

He slumped a little in his seat, trying to look unaffected, “Yeah, what?”

She huffed out a breath, “I know that this is... _hard_ , but don't you think you're being a little...”

“A little _what?_ ”

“You're being a bit of a shit.”

He scowled at her.

“I know that this is weird, okay? I _know that_. Don't you think it's weird for me, too? Jesus, you're the guy I went home with last night! Hell, if Derek had walked in _five minutes later_ he would have found us going at it on the counter -”

“The counter, really? That is _so_ unhygienic -”

“ _Stiles_. Not the point.”

“...fine.”

Laura sighed, “The point is that none of us could have expected this. _No-one_ is really at fault here, and I would just appreciate it if you'd go a little easier on my brother. We're werewolves, yes, but we're people, too. We grow up knowing that, if we wait long enough and look hard, we'll be able to find our soulmates. Someone who is _Disney-movie_ perfect for us. That's not a certainty that many people get, in this day and age.” She looked down at the table, shoulders hunching a little. “Some of us have built it up in our heads,” she said softly, “and waiting... waiting is hard, okay? And then to find that person, but have them -”

“Smelling like bar-sex with your sister?”

“We didn't have sex _at_ the bar, but yeah, basically.”

It was Stiles' turn to sigh, “I get it, I do. My mom and dad were... well, it took moving away from home for him to find any sort of peace, and he didn't really settle until I was in college. I know what soulmates look like, Laura. I've seen them.”

She gave him a measuring look, “Then you know that, for all the bluster he keeps putting up about you being his – he's just as much yours.”

He coughed, “I, ah, hadn't thought of it that way.”

Laura suddenly grinned, “And we breed 'em pretty in my family, don't we?”

“I'd say more like 'scorchingly hot,' but yes, I take your point.”

“Then you know what you have to do, right? Go in that bathroom and _talk to him_.”

“I - _fuck_ ,” Stiles looked in the direction Derek had gone, “bathroom confessions, really?”

“Yes, really. Now go make my brother a happy man. But not _too_ happy, food is on its way.”

“That's gross, _you're_ gross,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

“Your _face_ is gross,” she said, smirking.

“Oh god,” Stiles said, waving his hands, “ _toddlers_ , I've been attached to a family of _toddlers_.”

…

Derek was crouched against the wall opposite the door, elbows resting on his knees and head hanging down.

How had everything gone so wrong, so fast?

His instincts demanded that he return to the table, that he erase the smell of another on his mate's skin in the most expedient way possible ( _hold him down, mark him, make each bruise_ she _left his own, embed his scent so thoroughly that his very_ bones _held Derek's mark_ ), but that would only alienate Stiles further. Stiles, _Stiles_ , his mate. _His_. He'd found his mate, and that filled him with wonder and joy. His mate didn't want him and that... that hurt, _god_ , that hurt.

He thought of his parents, how every move was mirrored in the other, how in sync they were, so much so that watching them around each other was like watching a dance between two old partners. A dance they were happy to include their children in, but still undeniably _theirs_. He wanted that, he wanted it so much it made his teeth ache and his bones itch. He'd moved with Laura to the city to expand his search, and to get away from seeing the thing he wanted, but didn't have.

Derek could still hear them, if he strained, but he didn't want to listen in on their conversation. It wasn't really a surprise that his mate preferred Laura: most people did. She was louder, funnier, more _human_ than he was in so many ways. Thoroughly anchored in the world of concrete and chrome, while he longed for the woods and their childhood trails.

He clenched his hands into fists, letting his claws out to bite into his palms. The pain steadied him, focused him, kept him from storming out and ripping into the first target that presented itself. He didn't want to hurt Laura, not really. She couldn't help being who and what she was. He didn't want to hurt Stiles ( _not unless he wanted it, would he want it? Sharp teeth in smooth neck and hands holding him down, and open, waiting for more of Derek's touch?_ ), never Stiles.

Abruptly, he was aware that the heartbeat he'd been tracking was coming closer. _Stiles_ was coming closer. He held perfectly still, waiting. The door opened with a creak so faint that he doubted human ears would catch it, and the quick trip of Stiles' heart was suddenly much more _immediate_.

“Dude, that floor probably hasn't been washed since I was a teenager.”

Derek looked up slowly, trying to keep his face blank. Stiles was uncomfortable, he projected that in everything from his stance, to his expression, to his scent and the too-quick thump of his heart.

“Seriously, _please_ get up. God, my knees hurt just _looking_ at you.”

He stood slowly, never taking his eyes off of Stiles' face.

“So, you probably heard our conversation out there -”

“I wasn't listening.”

“Oh,” Stiles looked taken aback, “well, that's. Okay. So...I, ah, I owe you an apology.”

Derek blinked at him, “What?”

“I'm sorry. For being so short with you. I don't deal well with sudden life-changing revelations.”

He stared.

“...and it's been pointed out to me that I'm not really giving you a chance, which, under the circumstances, isn't really fair to you. So, I'm sorry. For the whole,” he made a gesture with his hands that managed to encompass the whole restaurant, and possibly might even have been meant to include the world and everything that had led to their current predicament, “mess. Because this is messy.”

“Messy,” Derek couldn't hold back a scoff, “right.”

Stiles' body shifted, posture becoming more aggressive even as his tone grew offended, “Hey, look, I am trying here, okay? You could give a little, too. I mean, it's not every day I find myself almost molested by a random hot guy in a stranger's kitchen! I think, for all the crazy that's gone down today, I am holding myself together rather well.”

“I wasn't going to _molest_ you,” he muttered, mentally amending, _Not unless you wanted me to._

“That's certainly what it seemed like when you, oh yeah, that's right: you _ripped the shirt from my body_.”

“I was only trying to get the stink off you, you smell like my sister and it's making my instincts go haywire because you smell more like _her_ than you do like _me_.” And now that they were in the bathroom together, a relatively enclosed space, it was starting to make him _itchy_ again. There was a faintly squirmy sensation in his back and face and hands that was the predecessor to the shift, though he was well-practiced in stifling it. Problem was, the longer Stiles stood there, smelling like Laura, the less he _wanted_ to suppress that particular instinct.

Stiles was looking at him speculatively, it was a look that he found discomfiting, and he wasn't quite sure why. “So,” Stiles said, still squinting at him, “if I smelled like you, you would calm the hell down with the molesting thing?”

He refrained from correcting Stiles on the 'molesting' thing again, “It would help a great deal, yes.”

Stiles rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, then opened his arms wide.

Derek stared at him.

Stiles wiggled his fingers a little, “Well? Come on, get over here. Hugging should work, right?”

Derek stared at him some more, “Hugging?”

“What? Too good for hugs? Let me tell you, _no-one_ is too good for a Stilinski hug, we are hugging _geniuses_. C'mere, wolfy, let the Stilinski hug-magic work its wondrous effect on you.” He even took a few little steps forward, then waited, looking for all the world like _Derek_ was the weird one here.

Still, the prospect of his mate _willingly_ offering his touch was too tempting to resist (not that Derek actually _wanted_ to resist, he just had a keenly developed sense for the ridiculous, and also – Laura would _never ever_ let him live this down). He moved forward slowly, sliding his arms under Stiles' so that he could bring his mate's torso fully against his own.

He looked at Stiles' face, so close to his own, and waited.

“Well?” Stiles looked at him expectantly, “What are you waiting for?”

With that, Derek buried his face against Stiles' neck and just... breathed him in.

Stiles smelled like skin and salt, like healthy, human _animal_. He smelled like Laura, too, but Derek was familiar enough with the nuances of her scent to filter those out for the true scent of his mate. Stiles smelled like bar, still, and it lent a smoky quality to his smell that Derek wasn't entirely sure he liked. He smelled like laundry detergent and diner and a hundred other things.

Mostly, though, he smelled like _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, no kiss. Hopefully the peek into Derek's head made up for it. :-)
> 
> Alrighty, so, I have a family reunion this weekend and am MOVING to my new apartment next week, and then I have grad school orientation (pray for me, no really), and then... you know, _grad school_. So RL will be taking precedence, guys. I will try and update regularly, but, well, I suck at that. Nothing is/will be abandoned, though - okay?
> 
> (Also, stressed me = many kinkmeme fills, because sometimes writing a quick one-off is easier than hammering out a new chapter in a pre-existing storyline. So, yeah. There's that.)


End file.
